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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25846453">festive atmosphere</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife'>youcouldmakealife</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>always in tandem [57]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Multi, YCMAL 'verse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 05:15:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,407</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25846453</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>They get fucking bag skated almost right after Georgie’s physical, so that’s a good day. That’s a great fucking day.</p>
<p>He goes home and he falls asleep on the couch in front of his dinner, wakes up a few hours later aching and drags himself to bed, wakes up stiff and sore and starving. He bets by the end of camp he’ll have lost at least five of those pounds of muscle he worked so hard to gain, will feel wrung out, exhausted, only to look at least eight more months of hockey in the eye. Ten if they’re lucky. </p>
<p>He missed it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>OMC/OFC, OMC/OMC</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>always in tandem [57]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1207269</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>187</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>festive atmosphere</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>August comes, and Georgie returns to Washington. There’s always mixed feelings at the end of summer, or at least there have been since he left BU. Less mixed than usual, this year — he only saw Melissa once in the last six weeks, and even though they kept in touch daily, it’s a whole other thing. And then there’s hockey. He feels like his shoulders straighten out when he parks at Kettler, spine unbending when he walks in the doors to that chemical ice scent. He’s skated, of course, and objectively the smell of those arenas was probably about the same, but they weren’t <i>his</i> place.</p>
<p>He’s one of the first ones to arrive, and he stakes out his usual spot, sets down his stuff before the tentative mingle, talks to Oleg a bit about training before Oleg breaks off to greet Rafael. Robbie gives him a nod from across the room, and Georgie expects that to be about it, surprised when Robbie walks over, offers an abridged version of their pre-game handshake.</p>
<p>“How was your summer?” Georgie asks. “You trained back in Boston again, right?”</p>
<p>“Good,” Robbie says. “And yeah. Subletted a place this time though — kind of different staying with your folks when you’ve got a boyfriend in town some weekends.”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Georgie says.</p>
<p>“They met him, though,” Robbie says. “Ted.”</p>
<p>Georgie’s not sure what Robbie’s looking for, here. “How was your dad?” he asks finally. He’s sure Robbie’s mom was lovely — she always was.</p>
<p>Robbie shrugs a little jerkily. “He was my dad.”</p>
<p>“Sorry,” Georgie says.</p>
<p>“S’whatever,” Robbie says. “Do anything?”</p>
<p>“Melissa came to Providence for the Fourth of July,” Georgie says. “So that was — an experience for her.”</p>
<p>Georgie doesn’t know if he’d describe the quirk of Robbie’s mouth as a smile or a smirk. </p>
<p>“I bet,” he says after a long moment, and then the silence stretches again, awkward, until Dougie breaks it by pulling Robbie into a headlock and mussing his hair, with a, “My boy!”</p>
<p>“Don’t fuck with the hair!” Robbie says, muffled. “Wheels, I fucking swear!”</p>
<p>Georgie takes that moment to escape, nods at Devon, who looks like he’s waiting for his turn to greet Robbie, probably fuck with his hair some more, waves at David, who smiles thinly back at him. There’s a lot of ‘how was your summer’, a lot of guys comparing post-training weights — Georgie’s 216 gets an appreciative whistle and a ‘beast’ from Cap Q — talking about their training routines, jumping on one another like it’s been years since they’ve seen one another. A few of the new guys stick to the edges, and Georgie mostly does the same, waiting for Coach to come in and break up the love fest, which he does almost as soon as he steps in the room, waving off guys approaching him with a, “Yeah, yeah,” and a barked, “Okay, let’s get down to business,” that immediately shuts up the room.</p>
<p>They get down to business. Eventually take the ice, which feels fantastic. It’s not that Georgie hasn’t been on a rink, plenty of his training was on the ice, but it feels different at Kettler, feels more real somehow, like it’s his turf, even though the locker room doesn’t feel that way. Feels like coming home in a way that driving back to Virgina didn’t, at least not until Melissa came over to his place after her shift.</p>
<p>They don’t do anything particularly strenuous, day one, just get back to things, a short ice-time before some guys have to leave for their physicals. Georgie’s is tomorrow, his turn to get poked and prodded and weighed and blood tested and piss tested for everything from PEDs to STIs to who even knows what letters of the alphabet. Georgie’s never been a big fan of needles, so it’s not exactly something he’s looking forward to, but it’s just another thing to stoically endure so he can do what he loves. He’s not complaining. There’s nothing worth complaining about.</p>
<p>“How was it?” Melissa asks over dinner after. It’s a day off for her, which is good, because Georgie doubts he’d have seen her otherwise. Their schedules work out pretty well during the season, but training camp is early days and early nights, and he knows how it’s going to go: sleeping ten hours solid and feeling like he slept four, every part of him exhausted and every muscle aching to the point even his <i>hair</i> feels vaguely sore by the time they start cutting players, every inch of him screaming by the time they finalize the roster. </p>
<p>No one <i>likes</i> training camp, and Georgie’s no exception, but barely weeks into summer he was already looking forward to it. He missed it.</p>
<p>“Always feels a little weird,” Georgie says. “Like the first day of school, you know?”</p>
<p>“I’ve made sure to suppress all memories of school,” Melissa says. “But yeah, feel you.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>They get fucking bag skated almost right after Georgie’s physical, so that’s a good day. That’s a great fucking day.</p>
<p>He goes home and he falls asleep on the couch in front of his dinner, wakes up a few hours later aching and drags himself to bed, wakes up stiff and sore and starving. He bets by the end of camp he’ll have lost at least five of those pounds of muscle he worked so hard to gain, will feel wrung out, exhausted, only to look at least eight more months of hockey in the eye. Ten if they’re lucky. </p>
<p>He missed it.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Georgie’s not surprised to find himself paired with Robbie again. He also wouldn’t be surprised if they’ll be shouldering the load of first pair D this season, what with the free-agency loss of Martinique, the way Salonen and the Caps mutually walked away from another — he’s got a PTO with the Bruins, but Georgie suspects it’s going to end with him retiring. He’s not worried about the prospect of promotion: it’s a role he’s been working for his entire career, and if there’s anyone who can make sure he doesn’t fall flat on his face doing it, it’s Robbie covering his ass.</p>
<p>What Georgie expected is confirmed the night of their first real game, Coach’s kid reading out the starting line-up, stuttering a little he’s so nervous, Coach grinning proudly down at him.</p>
<p>“Chapman-Kurmazov-Sanchez,” he says, which is a little unexpected, even though Coach tried it a few times during the preseason, but it’s a good chance to give Rafael top line experience without the pressure of taking top line draws, put him in with vets who can bring out his potential, so it seems like a smart gamble to Coach to make, especially during a fresh season. “Dineen-Lombardi.”</p>
<p>Robbie gives him a sliver of a smile from across the room, and Georgie nods back, stands beside him during the anthem, shifting from foot to foot, not because he’s anxious, but because he wants it all over with, wants puck drop, wants to get out there.</p>
<p>They lose the first game, which always stings, but then they win, and they win again. Georgie notches his first goal of the season on the power play, a snap shot that goes top shelf and in, a textbook blue-line goal, then gets another a period later in one of the ugliest scrambles he’s ever seen, the puck somehow getting its way through half a dozen bodies tangled up in the blue paint. He has no idea why the fuck it isn’t disallowed, and clearly neither does the Sabres coach, who looks like he’s about to shout himself to a heart attack, but it stands. They win by three that night, so it wasn’t the make or break goal, neither of them were, but it feels good. It feels really fucking good.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>They end October first in the Eastern Conference, second in the league behind the Kansas City Scouts, and only by a point. Quincy loudly announced two days before Halloween that he was hosting a Halloween party, that attendance was mandatory, and that anyone in a costume he didn’t deem acceptable was going to be fined like hell. Melissa’s working that night, her bar hosting a big Halloween thing, but she helps him sort through his clothes to find something last minute. Something off Amazon was almost guaranteed to get here in time, but ‘almost’ isn’t good enough when you’re facing the prospect of your captain holding his hand out for you to empty your wallet.</p>
<p>“Can’t I just do a bedsheet toga or something?” Georgie asks.</p>
<p>“What are the chances you’ll be the only one in a toga?” Melissa asks.</p>
<p>“Low,” Georgie admits.</p>
<p>“Is that going to get you fined?” Melissa asks.</p>
<p>“Probably,” Georgie says.</p>
<p>“This is vaguely David Bowie-ish?” Melissa asks, tossing him a slightly metallic dress shirt. He hates it, but his mom bought it for him so he’s incapable of throwing it out, has just let get dusty in the back of his closet.</p>
<p>Georgie looks at it critically. “Why can’t I just do a toga?”</p>
<p>“Because that sucks,” Melissa says. “Do you want to suck?”</p>
<p>“I don’t even listen to David Bowie,” Georgie says, which he did not expect would lead to Melissa making him listen to David Bowie for literal hours, but here he is. It’s not bad. Not his thing, but not bad.</p>
<p>“Not your thing,” Melissa huffs, and punishes him for his honesty with more David Bowie.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>“Where’s your wig?” Cap Q asks, arms crossed, barring entry to his house. “Or even just a blue suit? Come on, Georgie, you’re doing the man wrong.”</p>
<p>“It’s what I had around!” Georgie says. “It’s a — homage or something.”</p>
<p>“Fine,” Quincy says, holding his hand out.</p>
<p>“Come on Cap, my girlfriend spent an hour doing my makeup for this,” Georgie protests. Apparently he blinks too much, and it’s ‘distracting’ and ‘annoying’ and counts as ‘not staying still’ even though he wasn’t moving a muscle.</p>
<p>Quincy tilts his head. “You look very pretty.”</p>
<p>“Thank you,” Georgie says.</p>
<p>“No fine,” Quincy allows, then yells, “Chapman, Kurmazov, what the fuck is that?”</p>
<p>“Men in Black?” David says, sounding uncertain, and Georgie looks over to see David and Oleg dressed in black suits, black ties. The only thing differentiating them from two guys just wearing game day suits is the sunglasses Oleg’s wearing, David twisting a pair of sunglasses in his hand like he’s not sure why he has them.</p>
<p>“Oh, <i>big</i> fucking fine,” Quincy says. “Huge.”</p>
<p>Oleg slides his sunglasses down.</p>
<p>“<i>Huge</i>,” Quincy sternly repeats. “Where’s your girlfriend, Georgie?”</p>
<p>“Had to work,” Georgie says.</p>
<p>“Sucks,” Quincy says. “Go on in — no, not you two, what didn’t you understand about fines?”</p>
<p>Georgie leaves David and Oleg to their no doubt expensive fate, gets a hug from Quincy’s wife, who directs him to the kitchen for drinks and tells him not to drink the punch. Georgie figures that’s good advice, and thankfully near the punch that looks toxic — the plastic spiders in it are probably the least of the dangers — are cases of beer. He grabs a Guinness, nods at a scarecrow Rafael and a tin man Kameron.</p>
<p>“Where’s Dorothy?” Georgie asks, but that gets answered pretty quick when their newest call-up comes clomping in sparkling red heels. Georgie does not miss being a rookie. For plenty of reasons.</p>
<p>Quincy’s got a huge house, but it feels small with how many people have packed into it, and it takes Georgie awhile to find a spot with a bit of breathing room, breathing room that promptly disappears when Robbie’s crew comes in. Robbie and Elliot and Dougie and Devon are all wearing bedsheet togas, along with a woman Georgie thinks is Dougie’s girlfriend, and now Georgie’s grateful that Melissa warned him off it, because that would have been awkward. </p>
<p>He’s curious how they managed to get in the door without Quincy fining him before he notices the knives in Robbie’s back, the disturbingly realistic looking blood stains spattering the togas of the other four.</p>
<p>Caesar, then. Holy <i>fuck</i> is Georgie grateful he’s not wearing a toga right now. Robbie wouldn’t be able to resist saying something about backstabbing.</p>
<p>“What’re you even supposed to be?” Robbie asks.</p>
<p>“Bowie, duh,” Dougie’s presumed girlfriend says. “How do you not get Bowie from that?”</p>
<p>“You don’t listen to Bowie,” Robbie says.</p>
<p>Georgie shrugs. “Didn’t have a lot of time to get an idea ready. Plus he’s good.”</p>
<p>“Your make up’s great,” Dougie’s girlfriend says. “Did you get a make-up artist?”</p>
<p>“My girlfriend did it,” Georgie says.</p>
<p>“Where’s she?” Robbie asks.</p>
<p>“Working,” Georgie says. “Where’s Ted?”</p>
<p>“Getting us punch,” Robbie says, enough of a triumphant twist on it that Georgie doesn’t bother telling him what Cap Q’s wife said. He’d probably just drink more out of spite, and they’re playing Boston in two days, which is a game that always matters to Robbie, so it’s probably best he’s not still hungover when they play it. Ted can be as hungover as he wants for whatever the hell job he does.</p>
<p>They’re at least a couple punches in and visibly tipsy when Georgie makes his early exit. It takes him a good twenty minutes and practically half the make-up wipes Melissa provided to get all the makeup off, even after a shower, and he’s tired and annoyed by the time it’s done, but hey — at least he didn’t go with a toga. Small victories.</p>
<p> He ends up falling asleep before Melissa gets back from her shift, wakes up to her elbowing him to shut off his alarm.</p>
<p>“How was it?” she asks when she stumbles out as he eats breakfast.</p>
<p>“Weird,” Georgie says. “Kind of awkward. But I didn’t get fined, at least.”</p>
<p>“You’re welcome,” she says, and disappears into the bathroom, before popping her head out. “I can make sure I’m off for whatever ridiculous theme shit you have next.”</p>
<p>“Probably going to have to buy an ugly Christmas sweater then,” Georgie says.</p>
<p>“Gross,” she says, and disappears back into the bathroom.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Two weeks later Georgie comes home from a roadie to find an Amazon package on his front stoop, opens it to find the ugliest Christmas sweater he’s ever seen in his life, which is saying something, considering how much work hockey players put into one-upping one another when it comes to, well — anything. It’s hideous, and wouldn’t fit him in a hundred years, but it looks exactly Melissa’s size.</p>
<p>Georgie grins and brings it inside.</p>
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